Fiend's Fourth Hurdle

The rooster crowed.

Ergon lay sunk in a sea of silk and warmth, surrounded by the naked bodies of three women who dreamed sweetly beside him. Felicia's leg rested over his belly. Velicia's hair was draped like golden threads across his arm. Elicia had her face buried near his chest, snoring softly.

Leaving bed? That could wait.

A heavy knock on the door came and footsteps followed.

A breeze pushed the curtain aside. A slice of light stabbed into the room.

Ergon blinked, groaned, and blinked again.

There stood one of the mansion's maids with an old wrinkled face, dry as parchment. Her name? Ergon couldn't remember.

She bowed with a creaky voice. "Master Ergon… forgive me. I must disturb your rest."

Her eyes darted once toward the women sprawled across the bed, their legs parted without shame, soft thighs and other sights on open display, but she quickly averted her eyes.

Ergon rubbed his face. "Mmmh… what… is going on?"

He tried to make sense of it. He had made it very clear to the staff: don't wake him. Ever. And they had obeyed. He slept until noon like a champion.

Sleep… Gods, that felt good.

So something had to be wrong.

The maid cleared her throat. "Your father… requires your presence."

His whole body tensed.

His eyes widened.

"…What?" he said.

She repeated, slowly: "Lord Talen awaits you at Lion's Rock."

Ergon sat up so fast his stomach wobbled in protest.

"The hell does he want now?" he murmured, half to himself.

His sudden movement had stirred the others.

Felicia groaned. "Mmmh… what's the deal?"

Ergon waved his hand lazily. "My father wants to see me."

The three sisters moved closer, their faces still foggy from sleep.

Felicia slid her arms around him. "Dear… we miss you already." She kissed him slow and long.

Velicia followed, hugging him tight. "Take care, my love."

And Elicia, ever the boldest, crawled up, cupping his face with her hands. "We're here for you, darling." She leaned in close, her fingers trailing softly over his crotch as a whisper of a touch.

"You are such an important man," she said with a sly grin. "To think Talen Drakmore thinks of you so highly."

Ergon swallowed, trying to hide the sweat on his forehead. "Of course. My father and I… we're on good terms now."

He hoped the words might become true if he said them enough.

With a grunt, he rolled out of bed, his feet landing heavy on the stone floor.

He turned to the maid. "See to their comfort. I must get ready."

She bowed low. "As you wish, master."

He didn't want to go. His body ached for more sleep, but this wasn't something he could ignore.

At her clap, two younger maids entered, carrying faces more pleasing to the eye. They had slim figures, smooth skin, wearing long skirts and tight waists. Modest clothing, indeed, but not modest enough to hide the jiggle when they walked.

They accompanied him to the changing room. He cast sideways glances at their breasts as they moved.

Not bad.

In the changing room, they stripped him down, washed him with warm oils and scented perfumes, that of lavender and honey. It covered the stale stink of semen and sweat.

They worked quickly knowing the urgency.

His garments were loose and colorful; he couldn't wear tight clothing if he tried. A flowing tunic of dark blue with golden lions threaded at the hems, baggy trousers of thick brown linen, kept together by belt with an ornate buckle—lion's fang. His fingers carried many rings of gold and diamond on his fingers. A thick chain strangled his neck, seemingly too tight for his chubby skin.

He looked presentable, or at least, less like the pig he felt like inside.

The two maids stepped back and bowed.

He looked at himself in the tall mirror. Framed in gold. Lions roaring at the corners.

Not bad.

Hide the belly. Keep the shoulders straight. Smell good. Smile if needed.

He nodded to himself.

In the main hall, Don, the ever-watchful silent shadow of a man, waited wearing a polished armor, carrying a sword at hip.

Don bowed. Ergon nodded.

They left the estate.

Outside, the carriage waited, one made of Black Wood—shades of silver trims on the edges.

Ergon stepped in.

The wheels creaked, the wood groaned, and the whole thing leaned under his weight. Don sat across from him calmly as usual.

As the carriage moved, Ergon asked, "Don… this feels strange. Why would father call me?"

Don's face barely shifted. "No clues, master."

Ergon stared at the small window beside him, watching Steelreach pass by. One could see the stone roads beneath the tall towers and the endless training yards where the soldiers of House Drakmore hardened themselves in sweat and steel.

His father's routine… wake early, read the war reports, inspect the guards, ride to Lion's Rock, hold court with the generals.

Ergon's brothers would be there. Every one of them was a legend in battle, each one fearsome and respect in their own ways.

And Ergon? He wasn't even called to dinner most nights.

He shook his head.

Maybe… maybe something's changed.

Maybe father finally sees me.

The carriage rumbled on.

Ergon shifted in his seat, his belly pressed against his tunic. He pulled at the fabric, trying to give himself more room to breathe. It didn't help.

The road curved gently through the heart of Drakhearth, but Ergon's mind was already far ahead—toward Lion's Rock.

Towards them.

His brothers.

Hans and Leo.

They were the elder sons of House Drakmore. Born of Lord Talen's first wife, a woman forged from the same cold, proud steel as her husband. She raised warriors. She raised killers. And gods, did they turn out just like her.

Hans, the eldest. They called him the Steel Fang. Carved up a hill full of rebels when he was barely seventeen. Leo, second-born, but no less feared. Golden Paw, they called him, for the way he dressed and the way he fought. Both held command. Both were among the Ten Blades of Velrane as Talen's elite. A title reserved for the top warlords of the nation, those untouchable in rank and reputation.

And then there was Bron, youngest of Ergon's half-siblings, born of Talen's third wife, just like the little sister Ergon hardly ever saw.

Bron followed Leo like a hound on his leash. Second-in-command of a Blade of Velrane. He was a fit man with strong muscles and an admirable history of victories behind him despite his young age, an example of what they expected of a Drakmore man.

Ergon let out a slow, heavy breath.

He was the third son.

The middle one.

The forgotten one.

Born of Talen's second wife—the one everyone pretended never existed. She had disappeared not long after Ergon's birth.

He looked down at his hands. Rings slid loose on his fat fingers.

His brothers had arms like logs; their necks resembled tree trunks. Their meat had muscles.

Ergon was not like that.

He indulged. He lived in comfort, in velvet beds and perfumed halls, in the arms of women and the depths of wine goblets. Knowing pleasure was his strength. At least, that's what he told himself.

He'd seen the way Talen looked at him, sometimes with anger and sometimes with hate, yet sometimes... he looked at Ergon with disappointment, which was worse to him.

He was being summoned now to Lion's Rock, the fortress on the outermost cliffs of Drakhearth, where Talen Drakmore ruled his household with an iron hand.

Ergon wiped the sweat from his brow. The window beside him showed only grey skies and cold wind pressing against the hills. His gut twisted.

He would see them there.

Hans. Leo. Bron.

He could already feel their eyes. The weight of the way they would look past him as if he wasn't there, or as if he didn't belong among them.

He tugged at his collar again. Everything felt tight now.

"What do they want from me?" he muttered.

Don didn't answer. He sat still as a statue.

Ergon leaned his head back, closing his eyes.

Whatever it was, it had to be serious.

His father hadn't called on him in years.

He was riding at the edge of the realm into a den of lions.

He chuckled bitterly. "A pig among lions," he whispered.

But the laugh didn't last.

He was sweating again.

Hope, he thought. Just hold on to that.

Maybe this time it's different.